


Sillage

by OldeShoestrings



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Baking, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Yakuza Ignis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 15:43:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10516785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldeShoestrings/pseuds/OldeShoestrings
Summary: Noctis likes stars, adores his parents, enjoys his ordinary life and thinks that baking can be quite stressful (but he does it anyway). The first time Noctis bakes, he lets a stranger try the cake.Or how Noctis unconsciously makes a yakuza leader become completely smitten with him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not a native English speaker and this isn't beta.

\--

_What's that supposed to mean anyway? Don't mix eggs and sugar together? Who the fuck would not mix sugar--?_ Noctis sighs and puts the eggs down. Somehow, his interest is slowly dwindling and he knows his resolve will not last very long. Noctis is a determined man. Adamant in a way that often makes his father massage his head with a pitiful sigh. 

However, it’s a rare thing to happen.

Besides, baking requires effort and he has none to spare. At the moment.

As fervid as his determination is, it doesn’t coalesce so well when his laziness easily trounces over his tenacity. So yeah. Whatever. Guess he won’t be baking the butter cake, after all.

_I can at least tell Prompto that I tried_. Hopefully, that will stop his friend from babbling of how he should not have shared his baking recipe with Noctis in the first place. Again. Whatever. 

Noctis peers at the clock. Without his glasses, he needs to squint to get a better view of the numbers there, painted lavishly with a pallid tone of pinkish hue (should have never let Luna buy it for him).

Nearly ten, Noctis heaves. He still has a few hours left before his first class starts.

Noctis observes the messy desk, at the scattered baking utensils, at the white powder dotting the mahogany surface like an unsealed map - before he looks back at Prompto’s colorful baking recipe. The small, clean receipt is resting promptly near the fridge, beckoning him like a poisonous lullaby. 

Noctis sighs and pulls his glasses from his back pocket, donning it before tending to the unfinished pastry. Prompto better be grateful. He doesn’t usually make a second attempt for just about anything. 

He wants to study the stars and spend his time marveling at the outer galaxies - all the paradoxes and whispers and hidden sparks tuck away in the quasars, meteorites, and streams of cold highlights in space just for him to poke and disseminate like little riddles in the night.

One of the reasons why Noctis has chosen to take astronomy course despite his father's concern.

But then again, stars and cakes might work out just fine for him.

\--

The cake turns out to be a disaster. As expected, of course. Well, the shape turns out to be a disaster. Not as round and perfect such as in the small picture Prompto has provided him with, but the taste might just provide a tiniest of salvation for Noctis’ wounded pride. 

He can’t work miracle like his father has oftentimes claimed. The youth almost smirks at the notion. Parents, always believe their children can take on the world without wounds in their bones.

Noctis looks at the clock once more, noting he only has less than an hour to clean everything before he has to leave. Fortunately, his friend won’t have to wait for him since Luna will accompany Prompto today.

He removes the pink apron (courtesy of Luna, his darling childhood friend. Why must everything be pink? Luna doesn’t even like the color that much) and gathers the dirty utensils, carefully putting them in the sink before Noctis washes his hands.

His gaze lingers on the small cake whilst he cleans his nails, scrubbing at the powder there. Maybe he should cut a small portion and let Prompto try it? Perhaps Prompto might pucker his face in distaste when he takes a bite of the cake.

Noctis grins. 

“I hope he chokes in front of Luna.”

He dries his hands and produces a small knife from the drawer. Guess he'll be bringing some of the cake with him. If Etro loves him; Noctis prays Prompto will kindly lie and tell him the cake is actually salvageable. Not good. Not great. 

Just salvageable. 

Noctis cuts less than half of fraction of the cake, tucks it in a small white box the size of his palm and closes the lid gently. 

Noctis doesn’t bother to check everything in his small apartment before he springs towards the exit, duffel barely hanging on his shoulders as he locks the front door behind him, eyes glistening with a subdued mirth when Noctis glances at the box in his hand. 

_Carpe diem, right?_

-

Noctis can survive just fine without his glasses but his eyesight isn't as keen as it used to be when he was a child either. In a way, it helps even though the eyewear is too big and barely fits on his thin face. 

Regardless, it does its job when Noctis immediately spots a hunched figure sitting on a wooden bench near the vacant park. A man, judging from the built. The tall silhouette is slouching as if the weight of the world is pressing on his back. 

Noctis stops, blinking when the man falls flat on the hard surface, face first before his entire torso trails after that. Like a marionette with its strings pluck and cut down without an afterthought. 

_Oh, did he die or something? I don't wanna be a witness._

Noctis attempts to step away from the crime scene but it doesn’t take him more than several steps when Noctis ceases his steps. The main pathway is just a few steps away. He should leave and never turn back but then again-

Noctis doesn't want his mother to be disappointed in him. Besides, his conscience is biting at his chest, raw and red like a petulantly kicked puppy. 

With one last sigh, Noctis shifts on his heels and walks towards the figure. His grip on the tiny box tightens when Noctis is close enough to inspect the fallen figure; dirty blond hair and donning an extortionate-looking dark suit. The man’s wearing his glasses in a way that causes Noctis to scowl because it’s a crime to pull a remarkably striking look while wearing one. 

Not the time.

Noctis leans down and hesitantly pokes at the man’s neck.

Got mugged or something? Unlikely so when Noctis can’t trace for any outer palpable injuries. Drunk? Doubtful. The sharp, searing scent of alcohol does not protrude his nostril. Is he just sleeping then?

Maybe he should just leave the man alone. Late as he is, Noctis still refuses to risk Ardyn's calculative look even though the man is barely a tolerable teacher. 

Noctis throws one last look at the man before he silently puts down his duffel and digs out his brown jacket. He can bear losing one of his items - Noctis sighs, doleful - as he gently drapes the cotton fabric over the man’s upper torso. He can't do anything else but at least Noctis can still offer this.

It takes less than a second to make Noctis jump from his spot when a hand reaches out and clenches painfully at his shoulder, immobilizing Noctis from leaping backward. 

Noctis wobbles, sparing a glance at the now-conscious man. He's met with a pair of green eyes. 

The raven-haired tilts his head, eyes narrowing in an apparent bemusement at the odd way the stranger's gaze is assessing his person. Noctis feels exposed. There’s no leniency in how those emerald eyes are raking through Noctis’ being, taut and heavy as if he is brushing a dozen of daggers against Noctis’ pale skin. Fatigue and uncertainty converge with a quota of distaste and sharpened grief.

Noctis is left more confused than concerned by the ordeal. He carefully raises his arm to hold the man’s outstretched elbow. 

The stranger does not loosen his grip on Noctis’ shoulder. Yet there’s a shuddering intake of breath, or two before he finally relents and releases Noctis. 

He’s not kind in his attempt but Noctis doesn’t voice it out. The man seems distraught, lost.

Noctis knows he can be apathetic sometimes. Yet even he understands when the situation deems his silence has more worth to it than the ludic remarks he’s so quickly adapted from his mother. 

The blond-haired man inhales as he pushes himself up, tiredly leaning his back on the bench, face scrunches when the sun caresses his face. 

The stranger doesn’t seem to mind having Noctis’ jacket on his shoulders, solidifying the fact when he pulls the fabric closer around him as if it’s shielding himself from the rest of the world.

Noctis watches the other awkwardly. Should he leave now?

“Um…”

The man quickly throws a sharp glare at Noctis, shushing him with a wave of his hand.

Noctis frowns. Rude. Fine. Whatever. He’s just about to leave anyway. 

Noctis stands. He gingerly secures the small box in his right hand while the other one is used to sling his duffel on his shoulder. 

“You seem fine. So I'm just going to haul my ass from here.” 

The man stays quiet. No longer staring at Noctis like he's just burned his whole world down to rust and dust.

“Forgive me. I’m not-...thank you,” the man mutters.

Noctis blinks. Oh, so not mute then. 

It occurs to Noctis that he prefers it better when the man keeps his silence. Now he ought to say something back without actually sounding as if he’s desperate to leave the area. Maybe Prompto’s right. Maybe Noctis really needs social interaction to further his people skills. 

“It's fine. I thought you were dead,” Noctis scratches his nose. His glasses tips slightly down. This is painfully awkward. 

The man studies him almost absently but there’s a hint of guarded amusement when he looks down over his shoulder. At Noctis’ bronze jacket.

“I assume this is yours too?”

Noctis nods.

“Ah, I see. It was unnecessary but thank you again.”

The trace of something bitter is heavy in the man’s voice, demanding and abrupt. Even though the thickness of that piercing gaze isn’t aimed at him, Noctis can still vividly feel the burn to know that it’s there because of him.

The man is infuriating. He seems grateful for the small reluctant kindness Noctis has shown him, but it doesn’t escape Noctis how the other views such kindness to be a burden as well. Infuriating and confusing. Not his favorite combination to be honest. 

“Look, you don't have to feel like you need to pay me back or anything, okay? I didn't do much.”

“You did more than anyone else,” he says, surprised at Noctis’ sudden claim.

_What does that even mean?_

_Did someone die?_

“Did someone die?” Oh, wow. Look at that. His mouth runs its course without Noctis’ permission yet again. 

The man narrows his brows. Noctis is not expecting an answer. He gets one anyway. 

“Yes,” the blond answers, “A friend.”

Noctis says nothing. That explains the dark suit then and the man’s sour mood. Maybe he's just returned from his friend’s funeral or something. 

Ignorance can be a good thing and yet now that he has the full grasp of the situation, Noctis feels his annoyance slowly soothing in as guilt begins to temper with his chest. Maybe he shouldn't have disturbed the man. 

The other holds his silence. His hands twitch ridiculously. Open. Close. Open. Close. As if he's waiting for something to occur. A predator marking for its oblivious prey.

Noctis dismisses the odd posture. People mourn differently and the man most likely is still both angry and saddened.

Blue eyes find the small box in his hand. Noctis can’t tell what it tastes like. Might be horrible, might be adequate. Noctis is utterly sure it's not anything close to decent. But as long as it's edible, why does it matter? 

Except it matters, however insignificant it may be.

Still, the man appears to be miserable so maybe a touch of sweetness might partially cheer him up? 

The thought lingers for a few moments before he decides to let the man have it. 

Prompto can have his share later on.

Noctis stands closer to the blond, opening the paper lid and offering it to the other. “Try it.”

“Why?” the man asks, confused. 

Noctis bites his lower lip, almost regretting his choice now. 

“I made it and you seem-- well, you know. You seem like stuff so I guess-...”

“I _seem like stuff_?” the man smiles.

Noctis _stares_.

A smile is like a foreign layer on the man’s face, resembling a freshly painted canvas. It looks wonderful on him.

“Look, it's my first time making this kind of thing so I have to warn you; it may taste horrible but I'm not actually trying to poison you.”

The other chuckles. “Oh, people often try to do that. They never really succeed.”

_What now?_

“Do you want it or not?”

“Are you offering it nicely to me?”

Noctis has to refrain himself from pouting. Is he being played?

“Not nicely, but I'm offering.”

The man's doing it again; studying him with a sharp scrutiny that can boil even the staunchest solid determination. 

Noctis squirms from where he waits. “You don't wanna try it?”

“I'll give it a try then,” the blond extends one arm towards the box and gingerly cups the object with an utmost misplaced gentleness. He sets it down on his laps, observing the bland-shape cake with a curious glance. Noctis says nothing regarding the abrupt change in the man’s behavior. He seems warmer now. Amiable.

“You made it yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“First time?”

“Yup.”

“Well, I can give you a few pointers if you want.”

Noctis squints at that. “Pointers?”

The man’s lips quirk upward. “I'm a good cook.”

Oh. “That'll be nice, thanks.”

“Not a problem. Consider it as a token of my appreciation for not poisoning this dessert,” the man looks up at Noctis, offering a small smile. “I'd know if it was envenomed.”

The blond says the oddest things. 

Noctis shyly claims the empty seat next to the stranger, lounging down when the other doesn't rebuke Noctis’ presence at his side. 

He removes his gloves, dipping one finger on the creamy substance on the cake and bringing it to his lips. 

Noctis fidgets as he watches the other. He seems fine, eyes glaze and far like he's staring at secrets keep hidden behind the garish skyline. Then, ever so slowly, the man beams at Noctis.

“It's good.”

Noctis perks up at that.

“Really?”

“Indeed. Well done. Though adding a little bit of sugar next time might be a decent idea. And do be mindful with the quantity of your strawberry extract; too much of it might lessen the essence of buttercream filling.”

“Ah, okay but yes. Thank you,” Noctis tones down his glee. Perhaps he can make another one for his parents? A better one hopefully. His mother adores anything sweet. It worries his father to no end but the old man has a soft spot for his wife. Can never say no to Noctis' dearest mother.

“Ignis,” the bespectacled man says.

“What?”

“My name. It's Ignis.”

“Oh. Noctis Caelum,” Noctis grins in return, leaving his middle name out. Out of habit more than anything. 

He has every intention to lift the man’s spirit and from the lightness upon Ignis’ back and the softness in his expression; it seems to be working. 

“So you're feeling a bit okay now?”

Ignis glances at him, surprised. Though not as obvious as before. He wears that facade sometimes as if kindness is something of an unsolved equation to Ignis. 

It makes Noctis wonder if Ignis carries tenderness like an unmounted burden, like a weight he doesn't dare to touch. 

Noctis feels only pity for the man.

Ignis eats the rest of the cake in silence. Noctis does not disturb him. 

And when the other's done, Noctis gives him a blue handkerchief embroidered with Carbuncle design in the middle of the fabric.

Ignis smirks.

Noctis blushes.

“My mom made it for me when I was a kid. She said Carbuncle is an entity that protects you from horrible things,” Noctis lamely explains. He shows Ignis the Carbuncle keychain he's strapped to his bag. “I made this one but my dad helped. I think. My mom mostly just cooed at me.”

“You have good parents.”

“They're the best," Noctis supplies warmly because they are. The binary star of his universe.

Another stillness between them. Ignis hasn't even used the handkerchief, staring quietly into the faraway sight yet again. 

Whatever Ignis sees, Noctis hopes it's soothing and kind and gentle. Hopefully. Noctis sighs. He's being ridiculous.

Noctis’ fingers brush against the keychain. It's not much but it's one of the little things in his life that makes him smile. Back then, he was a child with all the wonders of the universe resided within him. Even now he doesn't change that much.

It's a charm, a sentimental value but yeah, mayhap he can bear to part with it.

With one last resolve, Noctis removes the keychain and hands it to Ignis. 

Another dazed glance is pointed at him.

“You should keep this. Good luck charm, I suppose.”

“Noctis, no. I can't.”

“Why not?”

“I'm dirty,” Ignis says vaguely. Noctis has an inkling Ignis means something else and not the taint of butter on his fingers. Though he doesn't understand what.

Ignis finally uses the handkerchief, very carefully, before he returns it to Noctis. The youth grabs it, using the opportunity to slide the keychain into Ignis’ hand.

The other appears adrift by the gesticulation.

“Look, you survive my cake. You didn't die or anything so _this_ ,” Noctis points to the keychain, “It's a token of my appreciation for not dying.”

And Ignis actually laughs at that. So vibrant with multi-colored echoes in his voice. 

When Ignis stops with a laborious breath, he's still holding the object. 

So cautious. Afraid his grip might break it. Afraid it might slip through his fingers and Noctis has never seen someone so lost before.

“You are kind, Noctis. A very dear soul,” Ignis murmurs. Words that aren't meant to be heard by Noctis.

The blond’s gaze finds its way to Noctis. “I thank you.”

“Sure. Hey, come again next time,” Noctis grins, “I might bake something again so you have to try it and help me out with the pointers.” 

Probably not a good idea to invite a stranger or befriending someone he knows nothing about. Then again, all friendships start the same way: exchanging names and silly tales of something precious. 

“That- I'll think about it,” Ignis offers.

“Yeah. I live nearby so I’ll just come to you,” Noctis waves dismissively at the building behind them.

Ignis beams. “Then I shall sit here, waiting for you. You'll see me hopefully?"

“Uh-huh, the view from my window overlooks the park anyway. I'll see you.”

Ignis nods. Content.

He stands slowly, Noctis’ jacket sliding from his shoulders. 

“Leaving?”

“Yes, there's someone I need to break,” Ignis’ smile vanishes at this.

Noctis just rolls his eyes at the statement. Really, people these days and their jokes.

Noctis copies Ignis’ movement, grabbing his discarded jacket and putting it back into his duffel bag as he follows Ignis towards the main road. His class has already started. Should he still go?

Luna might be worried about him. Prompto might, too, but not before assuming that Noctis has overslept again. 

They stop at the large pavement, standing close to one another.

It's only then Noctis realizes that Ignis is slender but still a well-built man, taller than him in a way that requires for Noctis to crane his head upward a bit to talk to the other.

The smile returns once more when those green eyes set upon Noctis. A look Noctis rarely sees in people. Yet it's there, veiling Ignis’ eyes with tender hue, spreading all over his face like thousand and thousand of incandescent stars. 

Ignis is staring at him and Noctis wonders what is it that the other man sees. Something peculiar? Something good? And at the moment, Noctis likes the other just fine to hope that Ignis sees something adequate in him. Noctis rarely has the opportunity to befriend someone outside of his usual circle. 

Maybe he wants to get to know Ignis better. He seems like a kind man.

“I shan't ever forget this, Noctis,” Ignis vows softly. 

He bends low, taking Noctis’ hand in his and kisses the knuckle briskly, leaving a sweet tingle on Noctis’ skin and in his chest. 

Embarrassed. He's embarrassed by such gesture. 

“And thank you for the keychain as well. I'll treasure it tremendously,” Ignis assures unwaveringly.

With one last smile, Ignis walks away, his parting words stay. Just like the lingering scent of unwilted freesia wafting around them.

Noctis allows the pink on his cheeks to lie dormant. Well. Might just as well go to his class anyway. 

\--

The scent of putrid red nectar is not welcoming at all for the blond. He seeks no joy in torturing people, nor killing them. Just as well as he finds it to be horribly bland when he hasn't killed anyone for a prolonged period of time.

A conflicting emotion, yes. Besides, blood will only dirty his shoes and his suit.

Ignis sighs. He dons the white gloves and flexes his hands as he enters the bright, pristine room. 

His men stand rigidly at his presence, warily watching the lumped figure chains to the floor. Naked and broken and bloodied. Mouth sewed beautifully like a crafted doll.

At his side, Gladio huffs. “You're late, Iggy.”

“I needed a moment.”

“Yeah? You trapped the guy, caught him, made him bleed and then you just left. Kinda worried us.”

“Like I said, I needed a moment. This place is too cramped,” Ignis appeases his friend. 

Ignis kneels on the floor; smeared red and the only place in the room to be painted with bright color. He runs a gentle finger along the swelling back, humming silently as his nails graze at the wounds. It's not enough. There are still parts left unblemished. 

His captive hisses. It's a proper idea, after all, to sew his mouth shut. The man won't stop screaming and it still irks Ignis to no end. Why must people be so loud in the face of death? Perhaps he should cut his captive's ears next and feed it to the wandering rats. Simple and plausible. 

“Not gonna kill him yet?” Gladio questions, igniting his cigarette. 

“Not yet. Want to keep him alive for as long as possible.”

“You know it's not your fault this guy killed one of our own, right?”

“It's my responsibility to protect my men.”

Gladio shrugs. He sits on one of the chairs in the chamber, observing as his leader continues to gently lay abuse on his captive. The rest of their men watch Ignis reverently. Always with the blind loyalty. 

Gladio can't really say how a proper _oyabun_ supposed to act but Ignis always spoils those who work under him, protects and provides for them.

He only demands an unwavering loyalty in return, never to be broken. 

The very oath their captive has foolishly broken. A traitor, a rogue who's claimed the life of another loyal family member.

Ignis never views betrayal lightly. 

Gladio puffs a breath from his smoke, running a hand through his hair. Doesn't matter. He is Ignis’ _kobun_. All he needs to know is to serve and die for his leader. Nothing else.

“Ah, Gladio?”

“What?”

There's something wrong with Ignis’ tone. Too kind, appallingly gentle. “Do you know how to court someone?”

Gladio blinks. “No. Not really. Why?”

“Nothing. Never mind then.”

From his peripheral vision, Gladio can see Ignis is holding something small in his bloody grasp. Watching it with a tinted affection, a sight so out of place in this room. 

“Something interesting there?”

“Maybe,” Ignis says before he kisses the object (a keychain?) and hides it away in his pocket.

Whoever the unlucky bastard that manages to sway Ignis’ focus from his job and gains such a devoted gaze - Gladio pities them.

Ignis will chase after what he wants. Will make sure it is his no matter what the methods he must use in order to obtain it. Consequences matter very little to the _oyabun_.

And once Ignis Scientia has set his eyes on something, he will never stop.

\--


End file.
